


Portraits Hung With Care

by MeetMeInTheMatinee



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Art Gallery AU, F/M, Fluff, Helen Loves John, Here she goes writing about John and his bookbinding again, John Wick Just Loves Helen, Meet-Cute, Shes a photographer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetMeInTheMatinee/pseuds/MeetMeInTheMatinee
Summary: “You’re not exactly dressed for that.”“It’s a few nails in a wall Hels. I’ve done worse in better clothes.”------------------------------------------------------------------------Written for Trin303's John Wick Gift Exchange. For bladeangelHappy Holidays, friends!
Relationships: Helen Wick/John Wick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Portraits Hung With Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bladeangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeangel/gifts).



“Hels, what are you doing?” 

She looked over her shoulder from her perch atop a stepladder, nails held between her lips as she hammered a picture hanger into the wall. She shook her head playfully, shifting just so, taking the nails out of her mouth. 

“What does it look like, John?”

“Like you could use a hand?”

“You’re not exactly dressed for that.”

“It’s a few nails in a wall Hels. I’ve done worse in better clothes.”

Her laugh rang through the small gallery space. 

“I don’t doubt that Wick.” 

A slightly more pink-cheeked John took the nails she was offering in her outstretched hand. She held onto them for a moment, leaning down slightly as John wrapped his hand around her calf and tilted his face up towards her. Their mouths meeting in a slow, lingering kiss that left Helen feeling flushed all over. 

Theirs was a bit of a strange romance. But then again, John was a bit of a strange man. At first. And if she was being truthful with herself--he still was. But he was honest and so thoughtful and most importantly for her--he was always there. A steady presence in her life. It had happened so slowly that neither one of them had wholly realized what was happening until they were together.

John wasn’t looking for anyone new to add to the motley crew of his life. He was in permanent residence at the Continental, he had money to burn and plenty of jobs to keep him busy. Bookbinding was something he’d taken up as a hobby. He was a voracious reader and spent hours trawling through antique stores and bookshops looking for downtrodden tomes to restore. He hated anyone knowing much about him and after one too many questions from other Continental folks about the books and supplies he was usually carting around he’d settled on renting a small studio space where he could work on his books away from the questions and comments. Plus, his rooms at the hotel weren’t exactly set up for this kind of work anyhow. 

Helen’s pocket sized gallery happened to be just a few doors down from his studio. John was surprised to see a picture of his favourite bookstore in all of New York hanging in the window one day when he passed by. It wasn’t a well known one--definitely not one the tourists flocked to--and it drew him in. He nodded politely at the dark-haired woman sitting at the desk at the back of the small space and began taking in the rest of what he discovered was a show. An entire show of small, old bookshops of New York. Familiar interiors popped out at him and he was so engrossed he nearly missed that the woman had walked up beside him.  
“Hi, I’m Helen.” She said. “Happy to answer any questions about the pieces.”  
“These are all yours.” He said bluntly, turning his gaze from the photograph to the woman next to him.  
“They’re beautiful.”  
“Thank you.” She said with a gracious smile.  
“Has the one in the front window sold yet?” He asked almost shyly.  
She was having a hard time getting a read on him. His imposing and very serious appearance didn’t quite match up with how he was talking to her.  
“No, it’s still available.”  
“I’ll take it.” He rushed out. “I really like that place.” He added with a fleeting smile. She decided she liked his smile.  
Helen nodded. “It’s a favourite of mine too.”  
“The show will be up for another few weeks but I can arrange shipping when it’s over if that works for you?”  
“I can come by and pick it up. It’s for my studio. Just down the street.” John wasn’t sure why he was sharing so much with her. It caught him off guard.  
“You’re an artist?”  
“No. No--I bind and restore books.” She noticed how his cheeks reddened slightly as he talked.  
“That’s an art of sorts.” She added.

From that day on he’d always make sure to walk by the gallery and check if she was there. Sometimes he’d stop in and other times he’d just wave if she caught his eye. Talking to her was easy--too easy. He found himself sharing things about his life he’d never told anyone else. She found herself doing the same. He was someone she felt she could trust. Even though some of the things he told her didn’t exactly add up--like what it was that he did that kept him living in a boutique hotel and in those bespoke suits he seemed to always be wearing. Then again, it was New York. She chalked it up to old money--but that didn’t quite seem to fit either. 

A few months had gone by and one day on his way to his studio he saw her, red-faced and dishevelled, hauling boxes out to the curb. She was always so calm and elegantly put together.  
“Hi Helen.” He said slowing down as he got closer to her.  
“Oh, hey John.” She said, straightening up and swiping the back of her wrist across her forehead. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun and she looked like she’d been crying.  
“Is everything ok?” He asked cautiously.  
“Yeah...I’m.” she interrupted herself with a rueful laugh. “Why am I lying? No, everything isn’t ok.” She said, shaking her head. “A pipe burst in the gallery and I lost almost all of my portfolios and a good number of pieces too.”  
“Jesus. Helen. I’m so sorry. Can I help?” He asked.  
“No, that was the last of the stuff that has to go. I’m just about to lock up and go home to sort out the insurance.” She said quietly. “But--thank you for asking John. That’s very kind of you.”  
He nodded. “I’m just down the street if you change your mind, alright?”  
She reached out and gently squeezed his arm just above the elbow. She appreciated his offer but appreciated even more than he didn’t press her further.  
“I know. Thanks, John.” She couldn’t be bothered to hide her upset behind a smile and that didn’t seem to bother him at all. He didn’t rush to fix things or push her to explain further. He just accepted her words and actions. He’d been on her mind a lot lately but as she locked up and turned to see him walking down the street to his studio, book in hand she realized those jagged and unpolished feelings she had about him had been polished and smoothed into something multifaceted and dazzling. 

John waited out of sight until she made her way past him before he circled back to the gallery and began digging through the boxes of water damaged portfolios and prints. When he’d set aside a sizable collection of them he gathered them up and brought them to his studio. It was slow and painstaking work but he’d managed to save enough of them to bind together. He settled on arranging them chronologically--figuring they were mostly portfolio works and even though he knew quite a bit about her and her work by that point--he didn’t want to make assumptions. 

In the months that passed by Helen only became more confused by her whatever they had going with John. They’d grab take out and share wine at her gallery. He’d finally invited her to his studio and showed her what he was working on--it meant a lot to her to see her art hanging on his wall right above his main workbench. It seemed like they’d flirt back and forth--yet John always acted like he was hesitant to move beyond what they had. Awkward pauses, a gentle but featherlight hand on her lower back when he’d open a door for her, a hesitation when they’d say goodnight. It was like neither one of them wanted to make that leap--despite both of them being decisive people. 

John could be very obtuse but he wasn’t completely in the dark about how she felt about him. The more time they spent together the more it was written all over her face. He felt the same way--he’d never wanted anyone in the way he wanted her--but he needed out first. Something he’d wanted for a long time but not something he’d ever been motivated enough to try for. Until her.

He’d let her know he had to go away on business and that he’d be away for a few weeks. They’d toasted to new business ventures--she had no idea what that meant exactly--and promised he’d be back as soon as he could with a gentle kiss pressed to her cheek.

Three weeks to the day later Helen was delighted to see him. A little dismayed at the limp he now had. A skiing accident perhaps? She was certain he’d tell her all about it over the bottle of wine he had tucked under one arm. She took the offered bottle and kissed him on the cheek. Noting wordlessly the ghost of a bruise along his cheekbone.  
“I’m glad you’re back!” She said excitedly.  
“Me too.” He said, clearing his throat. “This is..ah, this is for you.”  
He passed the large leatherbound book he was holding to her.  
Her name was embossed on the cover in tasteful gold lettering.  
“What is…” She said as she flipped it open carefully.  
John’s face was the darkest red she’d ever seen it. He seemed genuinely flustered as she paged through the works he’d clearly spent so much time and care in saving.  
“John, you--this--oh my god.”  
“You looked so upset that day. I wanted--”  
She cut him off mid sentence sandwiching the book between them and pulling him in for a kiss so filled with longing and passion that when she pulled back John was completely breathless.  
“I--wow--was that--o”  
John wound his arm around her back and pulled her tightly against him, his lips pressing against hers, teasing her lower lip gently with his teeth, not letting her finish that sentence. It was more than ok. They’d be more than ok. 

“John. Nail please.”  
“JOHN!”  
“Hmm? Oh!” He said with a chuckle--snapping out of his thoughts.  
“Daydreaming on the job, huh?” Helen asked with a raised brow with her hand out, waiting for a nail.  
“I was thinking about you, actually.” He said grinning as he held out a nail for her to take.  
She dropped her head and laughed quietly.  
“I love you John. So much.”  
“As much as I love you, Hels.”


End file.
